


All That Jazz

by Aurënfaie (Aurenfaie)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassination, Decapitation, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Espionage, Gore, M/M, Neither Hawke nor Fenris die, Past Rape/Non-con, Unhappy Ending, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurenfaie/pseuds/Aur%C3%ABnfaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy/Assassin AU</p><p>When Fenris turns against his master and joins a new agency, Hawke isn't sure what to make of him. Missions upon missions later, he's still not sure. Whatever Fenris' life had been before, it made him a very complicated man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> There are some very gruesome parts of this fic, so if you're squeamish...well, you've been warned. There are also references to past sexual abuse and the sex scene included can definitely be considered non-consensual (not violently, but it is worth noting).
> 
> Basically what you have here is a problematic fic. If you're going to be upset about these aspects, please don't leave me any nasty comments. You were warned repeatedly.

Until he met Fenris, Hawke didn’t think he’d ever see a decapitation first hand.

His line of work was usually subtler, cleaner. A bullet through the brains, a well-timed explosion, a pill in a drink, that sort of thing. Hawke didn’t leave clues. That was the whole point. He did his job carefully, like everyone else in the agency. Sometimes things got rough and it couldn’t be helped if a body fell off the side of a building or he had to take an entire computer with him instead of just the drive. Nothing ever went fully to plan, so slip-ups were expected from time to time.

Then there was Fenris, swinging his machete like a madman, severing a man’s head from his spine. 

It was disgusting. Hawke had seen plenty of people die before, but he still had to look away from the bloody mess Fenris made all over the marble flood. Fenris hacked away at the man with cold precision, cutting through wrinkled flesh and hard bone.

The noises weren’t much better. If he kept this up, Hawke might vomit all over the floor, and that would really leave a bad impression on whoever found this mess.

Whatever Fenris’ life had been before, it gave him some gruesome habits.

“Is that really necessary?” he hissed at Fenris’ back.

The only answer was the horrible sound of a blade through muscle and a sickening crack. Then Fenris stood and placed the head on the desk, facing toward the door. Its lifeless eyes stared at Hawke.

Through his earpiece, he could hear Anders groaning. “If we sent in a drone to shoot Titus through the window, none of this would be happening!”

At last Fenris slipped the machete back into its sheath hanging from the back of his belt. “I knew this man.” He turned to Hawke and frowned. “And now everyone can see what came for him.”

“They’ll certainly see something—”

“A friend, then?” Anders cut in. “Do you always kill your friends? That would be a good thing to know now, rather than when you shoot up headquarters.”

“Enough, all of you,” came Aveline’s booming voice. “Get out of there now. Fenris, when you return we’ll have words.”

  

* * *

  

Fenris hadn’t been with the agency long. He’d shown up one day a few months back claiming to have information on a few particularly nasty men.

Isabela recognized him right away as a bodyguard she’d tangled with a few years back after sneaking into some politician’s party. He would have kicked her ass if she hadn’t thrown herself out the fourth story window and crashed through trees and bushes until she was out of his sight.

He identified himself as the muscle behind Danarius, a name no one in the agency had heard before. His information put his former master and a number of other wealthy and connected men behind a series of horrible crimes committed around the world. Their power ran throughout Europe and South America. Their existence connected places, people, and events that previously had been unrelated. It was terrifying. This was the sort of thing the agency should have known about, yet so much had gone right under their radar.

Of course no one trusted Fenris right away. He was a jumpy thing with a nasty temper and a penchant for picking fights with anyone who tried to push him around. What made it worse was that he usually won any fistfight he got into, despite the fact that he was a head shorter than most of the agency. He was bitter and angry, unwilling to touch or be touched. He followed rules well enough, until they weren’t rules he wanted to follow. Then he ran off on his own and did as he pleased. 

While that did ensure no one hassled him for his previous occupation, it made it difficult to trust him out of sight. With all the information he was dangling before their faces, he could easily have been a double agent. After all, what did he have to gain from any of this, save revenge against Danarius for some unknown misdeed? That was something he was never willing to disclose, and so he’d been grounded in a long disused safe house near headquarters.

Aveline insisted that he dye his hair back to normal. That wasn’t exactly a surprise. With stark white hair and white tattoos trailing all over his skin, Fenris stood out. Anyone could see him from a mile away and track him everywhere he went, no matter how good he was at losing people. Isabela claimed that Fenris had cut it short compared to when she last saw him. She said she missed the bun. Fenris grunted and said he didn’t.

The next day, Fenris startled the entire office with the drastic change. Gone was the white, now replaced by thick dark hair. He’d even covered the tattoos with make up. He was… _handsome_. Not that he wasn’t handsome with the tattoos and hair; he simply looked more human now. For one moment, Hawke felt he could see beyond Fenris’ intense exterior to a person and not just a weapon. Instead of only seeing tattoos and bleached white hair, Hawke found himself watching the man’s expressions, the way he carried himself. Fenris wasn’t a tall man, but always held himself with easy perfect posture. Despite this, he fidgeted constantly. He was always looking around, shifting from foot to foot, examining his callused hands, pacing. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, his expression would soften and he’d look years younger. 

He was a mystery.

In attempting to find out as much as possible about their new ally, the agency realized that Fenris knew almost as little about himself as they did. He was able to provide some details, that his name had once been Leto (no last name that he could recall), that he’d been in a rural area before Danarius picked him up, that he’d been with Danarius for at least twenty years. Other details, such as his age and birthday, where specifically he was from, if he had any family, were all lost. If Fenris knew why he’d lost that information, he didn’t say, and no records could pick up anything he didn’t tell them.

Fenris’ dedication to destroying the Danarius eventually lead to a hesitant acceptance that he’d be sticking around. In time, he was allowed out on missions, but only with senior agents. Hawke was his usual partner, along with Varric serving as a sniper and Anders as backup support with whatever unnecessarily automated thing he’d crafted.

It was honestly unfortunate for everyone that Aveline insisted on sending drone support on every mission Fenris went on. Anders and Fenris could argue for hours through their headsets about the pros and cons of having feet on the ground versus utilizing the latest technology. They could bicker through gunfire and only ever stopped when Aveline couldn’t stand it anymore.

Most missions were agony, save those that were so high intensity no one had a spare breath to argue.

On those few blissfully silent missions, Hawke could truly take in Fenris’ company.

The man was quiet most of the time, but the way he carried himself was a conversation in itself. Fenris didn’t walk, he _sauntered_. He didn’t swing his hips with the force Isabela did, all for the sake of sex appeal. She did it on purpose, did it to draw attention and sometimes to make people uncomfortable. But Fenris, he moved as fluid as a panther, smooth and silent. He was graceful and sensual, even with an assault rifle pressed up against his shoulder. The way he moved was a product of his natural gait.

It was mesmerizing to watch. Hawke made a point of following behind him, not only for the sake of Fenris’ fixation on leading, but also so he could trace town Fenris’ spine with his eyes. That Fenris had a perfectly tight ass and a habit of wearing thick leggings instead of pants only made him all the more distracting.

As Fenris drifted from room to room, Hawke’s eyes would never leave his form. The machete was slipped into the back of his belt for emergencies. No one else in the agency asked much about it until the decapitation incident. Everyone had a quirk, usually in the form of knives tucked into shoes and bras or spare bullets floating around kitchen drawers. If Fenris wanted to carry around an unnecessarily large knife, no one would stop him.

Fenris was given a gun like the rest of them, an assault rifle that seemed to dwarf his sinewy body. He held it reverently and moved it like a part of him. He wasn’t a great shot at a distance, but could clear an entire room in seconds. Hawke privately suspected that Fenris’ eyesight wasn’t great. He’d seen the man squinting at all signs and maps from time to time and Fenris usually left the directions to him. Glasses might help, but he wasn’t sure how well Fenris would take to that suggestion. He hadn’t exactly taken to the suggestion that he actually wear shoes when on jobs well. 

Even with a gun, Fenris seemed to excel when up close. Short and muscular, he was quick and powerful. Hawke had seen him take down men twice his size without breaking a sweat. His hands could cradle a man’s neck before he even had a chance to blink and then crack, that would be the end of it. He’d done that before he—ugh, Hawke couldn’t think about it without feeling nauseous.

 _Sexy and dangerous_ summed up Hawke’s thoughts on the matter, along with _entirely off-limits_.

Not only was he a coworker, but also Hawke knew next to nothing significant about the man. He knew Fenris had once worked for a monster of a human being and that he was just as deadly with a blade as with a gun. Neither of those were particularly date worthy pieces of knowledge. Hell, both of those should have been enough to turn him off to the idea of even sleeping with him. 

Whatever Fenris’ life had been before, it made him an extremely dangerous human being.

Unfortunately, Hawke’s dick was never very good at listening to his head. In the slow moments after a mission when they shared a room together while waiting to leave whatever city they were in, Hawke found himself watching Fenris more and more.

 

* * *

 

After a particularly brutal mission, Hawke came out of the shower to find Fenris sitting on the floor and polishing the disassembled pieces of his gun. He had headphones plugged in, but the music was turned up so loud that Hawke could [hear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-4KiszXxHM) a beat even standing above him.

“You listen to rap?” Hawke asked and ran a towel over his hair.

Fenris’ back tensed, then slowly relaxed as he turned to face the voice. Had the machete been in grasp, Hawke might have lost his shin. He blinked at Hawke and pulled out one of the ear buds. The music boomed into the room with a voice so deep Hawke couldn’t make out the words. “What?” 

“I said, ‘You listen to rap?’”

“Yes,” Fenris confirmed. His head tipped to the side. The music continued unnoticed by either of them. “You seem surprised.”

Hawke let the towel rest around his shoulders. In nothing but boxers and a towel, he should probably be a little more nervous around someone who could reveal himself to be a double agent and snap his neck. Anders had commented before that it was odd how much Hawke could trust a man he barely knew. “I thought you’d listen to classical music or something. Like a serial killer, you know?”

“Like a…serial killer.” Fenris stared up at him, wide green eyes piercing.

“That sounds bad,” he admitted and rubbed at his calf with the underside of his foot. “I don’t know. But rap?”

Fenris looked back down to his gun and started reassembling the pieces. “It is relatable.”

Puzzled, Hawke made another attempt to catch the lyrics rumbling out of the empty earbud. Between the accent and the voice, he was only able to latch onto a few words. What he caught better was the tone. It was sad and angry, both resigned and still fighting.

He was sure there was something he was meant to take from this discovery, but he wasn’t sure what it was just yet. 

He supposed Fenris just seemed _sad_.

 

* * *

 

When Danarius was dead of a bullet between his eyes, Fenris started to fall apart.

No one noticed at first. He was as stoic as always. He left willingly, he went back to the room he shared with Hawke, and he cleaned his weapons, same as always. The team returned to headquarters and went their separate ways.

Hawke went back to his apartment and dog, Varric to his lover’s home, Anders to his cats. Fenris went back to the empty, dusty safe house. He didn’t seem to want the company of anyone anyway.

The cracks started to show the next morning when he didn’t show up at headquarters asking for another mission the way he usually did. Aveline dismissed it as needing some time to himself. This was why he’d come to them after all. Anders suggested that Fenris might not come back at all. Why would he? He’d gotten what he wanted. Of course that would mean they’d have to hunt him down. No man with that much knowledge could be allowed to roam unchecked.

Hawke didn’t stick around the office for long. There was nothing for him to do but paperwork, and surely that could wait another day. He wanted to see for himself if Fenris was still around. He’d hate to have to kill the man he’d become so preoccupied with. He wondered if he even could kill Fenris. Either his own heart would stop him or Fenris’ bullet would. 

He’d never actually been to the safe house while Fenris occupied it. Aveline gave him the address and key, and he recognized it as the one Isabela’s friend Zevran had used when he was last in the city. For the few nights Zevran stayed there, the place had been an orgy cradle and house of sin. This was especially surprising considering that the man claimed not to know anyone other than Isabela in London. Hawke had a feeling that Anders was somehow involved in that, but really didn’t want to ask.

Now the safe house, more a loft than a house, looked abandoned. The windows were dirty and dusty. No lights lit through the windows. Hawke watched the back of the loft from across the street and saw no sign of occupation.

Had it been anyone but Fenris, he would have been certain the place was empty.

When he came around the front of the loft, he knocked softly on the door before keying it open.

The inside of the safe house was dim and smells of old dusty. Only a trail of footprints in the mess indicated that anyone had been inside at all. There were no personal belongings, no food on the counters. The sofa in the main room was still covered by a white sheet.  

Hawke followed the footsteps to the bedroom. Its door was cracked open, but there were no lights on inside. Only the sun shining through grimy windows kept the room bright enough to see.

Fenris sat on the ground, bare legs kicked out in front of him and his back against the side of the bed. His head tipped back against the mussed sheets and his lips hung open. The ceiling seemed to be the most interesting thing in the world to him at the moment. Bottles upon bottles of wine, both empty and full, surrounded him. They were a forest of glass spouting up along the worn hardwood floor. He wore black boxer briefs only, and his skin bumped like gooseflesh in the chilled room. Hawke had seen the man next to naked a few times on their missions, what with the shared rooms and limited time to bathe and change. He’d even stared a bit then, letting his eyes trace along the white patterns spanning across Fenris’ warm skin.

Now though, he drank up the sight as though it were entirely new. Hawke didn’t think he’d ever seen Fenris so relaxed before, even sleeping. Fenris was drunk, that much was certain.

When the bedroom door creaked fully open, Fenris’ head lolled forward. “Hawke,” he said, sounding distinctly unsurprised. “You’re loud.” His eyes blurred open. They were glassy and unclear, not entirely focusing on the man before him. Fenris’ head tipped sideways, near lying resting against his shoulder, and he smiled.

It made Hawke want to run away. Fenris looked entirely unhinged like that. Nothing in his smile said happiness. It screamed something predatory and mad, like he was debating whether or not he should swing his machete at Hawke just to see if he could. It was good luck that Hawke didn’t see any blades or guns within the man’s arm reach.

Hawke wanted to ask how Fenris was holding up, what he’d do now, if he cried, but instead said, “You didn’t show up today.”

Fenris chuckled, his lip curled unpleasantly. “Is it a requirement that I do?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted and toed a bottle away. Fenris had signed plenty of agreements, all in regards to the information he held and the information he gained. His lips were legally sealed. None of them said anything about him being required to show up to work every day though. Beyond the occasional check in with Aveline, he wasn’t required to do much of anything. Until now, Fenris had decided to come in every day. “We missed you though.”

Fenris snorted and fumbled for a bottle. The first few he grabbed were empty and he set them off to the side. He found one with a splash of wine at the bottom and readily gulped it down.

“We have some paperwork we need to fill out. I don’t think anyone will mind if we put it off for a day, but anything more and we’ll get an earful.”

Green eyes caught on him. “Is that all you came to say?”

Hawke frowned and shifted. What had he come here for again? To confirm Fenris had run away? Fenris was still here, drunk off his ass and mostly naked. He hadn’t turned to some enemy agency so far as Hawke could tell. Judging by the bags under his eyes, sleep hadn’t happened either. In fact, Hawke doubted Fenris had done anything but drink since their mission ended. “I wanted to see if you were alright. Judging by this,” he gestured to the bottles, “You seem to be just fine.”

That earned him a laugh and Fenris knocked over a couple of bottles in his search for another with something in it. “Can’t you tell I’m celebrating?”

“Clearly,” Hawke muttered and picked his way through the bottles until he made his way to the side of the bed and sat. “Please tell me these aren’t all from last night. I’d need to call an ambulance.” 

Fenris shook his head, but didn’t explain.

They were both silent for a moment. Fenris let his head tip back against the bed and closed his eyes. For a time, the only sound in the loft was that of their breathing and the occasional shift of skin and cloth.

Hawke didn’t know what to say. He had a feeling that if he asked Fenris to talk to him, to tell him about his feelings, he’d invite hostility. It was difficult enough to get the man to talk about anything akin to personal, and most of their conversations up to this point had been in regards to missions and their coworkers. As much as he liked Fenris, he doubted Fenris felt the same. He doubted Fenris liked anyone.

At length, Fenris folded his knees up against his chest. Hawke couldn’t see his expression well, but watched as the man swatted aside the bottles. They clanked together and some spilled red across the floor, then rolled away from the bed. 

Fenris paid them no mind as he uncurled and fell forward onto his hands and knees. His limbs dragged through the sticky wine until he brought himself before Hawke. He sat back on his heels, then extended his arms out to Hawke’s knees. His red stained hands spread across the man’s knees, then worked up his thighs.

Dumbfounded, Hawke watched as wine sank into his trousers, and watched as those hot hands crept higher and higher until they met with the V of his hips. Without his noticing, Fenris had managed to pull Hawke’s thighs apart and pushed his torso between them.

“Fenris,” Hawke managed and swallowed hard. Overwhelmed by the sight of Fenris between his legs, Hawke let himself consider the various fantasies he’d enjoyed about his partner. More than a few had been something like this. With no more than Fenris’ hands on his thighs, Hawke could feel himself throb against his zipper.

“Fenris,” he said again and clenched his legs around the man’s shoulders. “Wait.”

Fenris stilled and peered up at him with suddenly sharp and clear eyes. He almost looked afraid of his own actions.

“What are you doing?” Hawke asked and wet his lips. It would be impossible to pretend that he wasn’t interested, not when all his blood was so clearly rushing south. Fenris’ face was mere inches from the bulge in his trousers. Fenris hardly had to do a thing to gain his attention. It was embarrassing how quickly he reacted. There was no plausible deniability here.

Fenris looked lost for a moment and ducked his head against Hawke’s knee. “I…I want to show you.” He inhaled sharply and locked his eyes with Hawke’s. “Let me,” he said, firmer this time. His shoulders shifted until his hands could continue their upward trail. “I want to,” he said, tracing his fingers over Hawke’s belt.

“You’re drunk and upset,” Hawke countered and tightened his thighs again.

“I want to show you,” repeated Fenris, pushing Hawke’s legs open with his shoulders. “I want you to know.”

“Know what?” Hawke started to ask, but trailed off with a hiss as Fenris brushed his palm over the front of Hawke’s pants.

Clever fingers pried his belt open, then the button of his trousers. They dove in, stroked him through the soft fabric of his boxers. Hawke could feel himself twitch beneath Fenris’ dedicated care and the underwear grew damp against his tip. 

It was a little difficult to speak after that. Fenris was firm yet gentle. He pressed his lips below Hawke’s bellybutton as he tugged the front of Hawke’s boxers down. His hot breath fanned over Hawke’s sensitive flesh, making him groan and roll his hips forward. Fenris let out a quiet rasp of a laugh, and then pressed his nose into the thick hair at the base of Hawke’s cock. Tipping his jaw, his lips brushed along Hawke’s length and suckled their way up to the tip. Hawke squirmed, uncertain if he wanted to protest more or let Fenris have what he wanted.

Despite his better judgment, Hawke fell back on his elbows and let Fenris take and take as he pleased.

Fenris watched him from under his lashes and drew him into his mouth. Whatever Fenris’ life had been before, he was agonizingly skilled at this. Hawke nearly lost control of his body and toppled back against the bed. Instead he only just managed to keep his hips still and let the man work. He was not left unfulfilled. Fenris’ lids drooped and played him like an instrument, drawing him in deep and working his throat around him, letting his fingers trace absent patterns against the crease of his thigh. He saw stars when Fenris pulled off to just the crown and pressed his tongue against the underside.

When Fenris seemed to grow bored of Hawke’s reactions, or maybe just sucking cock, he pressed his thumb behind Hawke’s balls. The man jolted and snapped his hips into Fenris’ throat with a strangled cry.

He took it like a professional, opening his throat and swallowing around the head. As he pulled away, the corners of his lips turned upwards.

When their eyes next met, Hawke thought maybe Fenris was somewhere else entirely, imagining he was with someone else. He couldn’t claim to have ever seen Fenris look so happy before.

 _No_ , he thought. The more he watched the man work, the more he realized that it was not genuine delight, but instead a performance. Everything he did, the way he moved, the way he looked at Hawke, was all a means to enhance the experience. Fenris did nothing for himself; it was all for his partner. A cursory glance downward confirmed that the man wasn’t even stiff in his underwear.

A horrible, dark thought started to build in the back of Hawke’s mind. He didn’t dare ask to confirm it. He was selfish and he felt good and he didn’t want to acknowledge the horrible reality behind Fenris’ actions.

But Hawke _knew_.

Fenris extended his middle finger and let it brush over Hawke’s hole. Hawke was left unable to think as his hips flexed and he spilled over the edge. He fell back against the unmade bed and twisted his legs together around Fenris’ torso, effectively trapping him in place. The man didn’t struggle, instead swallowing down Hawke’s release with eager gulps. Nothing was spilled. Fenris was a professional after all.

It took Hawke a moment to relax and release Fenris from his grip. When he did, Fenris rose with the grace of a cat and stood tall between his legs. He wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but his expression held a distant pleased look to it. 

With ease, Fenris straddled Hawke’s thighs and settled himself in his lap.

As soon as Hawke’s body was able again, Fenris rode him like a wild succubus, taking everything and leaving nothing. Hawke could only lay back as rolled their hips together, moving like he was dancing. He seemed to know all the right ways to move to drive Hawke mad.

This time, he was hard and stoked himself to completion on Hawke’s chest. Hawke couldn’t mind if he tried, not when Fenris was making him come so hard he blacked out, a quiet “Yes, _dominus_ ” murmured against his ear.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but when Hawke awoke, he was alone in the bed. That wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d woken up in plenty of beds alone, and Fenris didn’t exactly seem like the type to stick around.

That Fenris _was_ still around, leaning against the windowsill and looking out into the city, was a surprise. He was fully dressed, no longer loitering around the loft in nothing but his underwear. His usual think black leggings were pulled up over his thighs, his top covered by a loose black shirt and a hooded jacket. He’d even put on shoes for once, though they were sneakers slipped over his toes and crushed in the back by his heels.

When he heard sheets rustling under Hawke’s body, Fenris turned his attention to the bed. He wasn’t smiling. He looked lost, just the way he did when he thought no one could see his expression.

“Hawke,” he said.

“Fenris,” said Hawke, and sat up. His head throbbed, though he knew he’d not been drinking.

“Hawke, I…” Fenris swallowed and looked back to the window.

“That bad?” Hawke tried to joke. He felt a rock in the bottom of his stomach. The realization that he’d taken advantage of Fenris rushed into his thoughts. Fenris had been drunk, definitely. Distraught too, most likely. It didn’t matter if Fenris took the lead, not when there were still dozens of wine bottles spilled across the floor.

Hawke closed his eyes, waiting for the accusations to follow. He couldn’t deny a thing. He’d been obsessed with Fenris and hadn’t made to stop the intoxicated man from tumbling into bed with him. No good man would let that happen.

“Fenris, I’m—”

“It was good, Hawke,” Fenris interrupted him, green eyes locked to Hawke’s own amber. “Better than I could have imagined. Thank you for letting me...” He shifted, rubbing the arch of his foot against his calf. He fell silent for a moment and let his eyes drop.

Hawke swung his legs over the side of the bed. He padded across the hardwood floor until he stood but a few feet from Fenris. “Fenris,” he tried again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone along with it.” He had no regrets of his own, not when he’d been given the best sex he could remember at the hands of a man he’d fantasized about for months. Still, he could feel his insides crushing in on itself with shame. He’d surely broken Fenris’ trust in taking advantage of the situation. Never in the entire event had he been under the illusion that Fenris had been sober and stable.

Fenris shook his head. “I needed someone to know. I wanted it to be you.” His voice was low and quiet, uncertain and afraid. He might run at any second if given the opportunity.

Hawke couldn’t claim to understand it. Fenris had never said what he meant, though Hawke had his theories. None of them were good. Everything pointed to forced sexual labor, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He felt better not knowing.

Whatever Fenris’ life had been before, it wasn’t Hawke’s place to know.

“Thank you,” Fenris said again. Then they were silent for a moment

“You’re leaving,” Hawke murmured, eyes going wide.

“Yes.” 

Hawke shook his head. “You won’t be free. Even with Danarius dead, we will have to hunt you. I will have to hunt you. You signed the contracts, you know that!” 

“Yes.”

“So why?” he begged, now desperate for a reason to keep Fenris here and safe. The world outside would eat him up and beat him down. A man like Fenris could never survive out there, not with so many people still gunning for him. Hawke didn’t want to be the one to have to do it, but he would if Aveline ordered it. That’s just how things were. “Even if you didn’t want to do this anymore, you could stay!”

“I can’t ask you to understand it,” Fenris insisted. “I only stayed this long so that I could say good bye.” He took a deep breath, then turned his body toward Hawke. He stepped forward, once, twice. He stood just before Hawke’s naked body and looked up at him through dark lashes. His hand extended carefully, as though moving too fast might make Hawke disappear. When his fingers touched Hawke’s chest, Fenris closed his eyes and exhaled. “Good bye, Hawke.”

“Fenris.” Hawke was swearing on the inside, all number of curses he could remember and a few he’d picked up when too far gone to recall. Why was he getting so worked up over a man he hardly knew? Sure, they’d had their missions together. Saved one another’s lives, shared cramped hotel rooms, even had sex. But he didn’t know Fenris. If they weren’t stuck together by work, he doubted they’d ever become friends. Fenris was beautiful in a way that drove Hawke to distraction, but he could never claim to know anything beyond skin-deep assumptions about the man. Well, now he supposed he had an idea of something more, though he crushed that thought against the back of his skull.

“Good bye, Hawke,” Fenris repeated, then stepped away. His hand went with him, leaving a cold spot on Hawke’s chest. Hawke felt as though his insides were willing with ice. He was frozen in place, unable to do anything to stop Fenris from leaving. He could hear the man’s steps creep quietly away from him and to the door.

He heard the front door open, then close.

 _He didn’t have any luggage with him_ , Hawke’s mind told him. _He has to come back_. Hawke didn’t bother to argue with himself. He already knew that Fenris had come to them with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the machete tucked into his belt.

The loft was damn cold without Fenris, but Hawke couldn't will himself to move. He was alone. His eyes took in the rest of the room. It was empty, save the bed and the wine bottles. Were it not for the mess they'd made, he'd doubt anyone really lived here. It was completely devoid of personal touches. It certainly couldn't be considered a home.

There was nothing left for Fenris here.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on my writing Tumblr at [aurenfaiewrites](http://aurenfaiewrites.tumblr.com/), or at my personal Tumblr [here](http://realvsable.tumblr.com/).


End file.
